Silent Tears
by Kosaji
Summary: Oneshot- It's July 4 1997 and England is storing away things Hong Kong left behind when he is confronted by the memories of the past. Slightly historical, no pairings.


**Hello! I know I should be working on The Mummy, but I saw this picture and BAM I got hit with this little idea. Enjoy!  
**

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England walked slowly upstairs to the attic, carrying a small box with him. He clutched in tenderly, making sure it wasn't jostled as he made his way into the dark room. Reaching out England hit the light switch illuminating the dark space. The light hit the covered furniture and portraits stored in the room but England barely gave the items a glance before heading deeper into the attic. Each step echoed slightly as he left behind the clean dust free space to a darker, colder part of the attic. He stopped to open a hidden door pushing it open with his hip. He entered a large crowded room not bothering to turn on the light; he knew where everything was and the light from the rest of the attic spilled in to let him see. Placing the box on a shelf he traced the letters spelling out Hong Kong with a finger before moving away.

England sighed. It was three days since he stopped being an Empire, three days since he gave his last colony back to China. Despite the constant heart attacks the boy gave him with his fireworks Arthur was going to miss him. He was alone again, alone in his empty too large house. He was fine though, he had his faeries and Flying Mint Bunny and Uni so everything was all right.

He smiled sadly at the box; it contained Hong Kong's old clothes, the ones he wore when he first became England's colony. The small port looked absolutely adorable in them before he grew out of them and chose to wear the more "fashionable" clothes teenagers wore. He also packed a few of his old toys and several firecrackers in there, carefully wrapped in newspaper and plastic to keep them safe.

England moved away from the box, going over the rest of the knick-knacks in the dusty room. He kept on saying that he will clean this room but he never went through with it, apart from a light dusting. He trailed his hands over covered portraits; portraits he knew were of him and his various colonies. He made sure he had portraits made of all of them, even if he had to drag them out of their rooms to do it.

He moved forward, looking over the tin of tea he kept from India holding a small amount of golden jewelry next to his brightly colored turban. He rested his hand on the turban lightly before moving forward, further back into the room.

He didn't want to be there.

He didn't want to be attacked by memories of children's laughter and happier times.

He didn't want to feel the aching emptiness when he realized he couldn't feel his siblings and children, but he couldn't think of them as children now could he?

His feet moved forward nonetheless to the very back of the room. A partially covered mirror leaned against the wall reflecting an old dresser. England moved closer, eyes averted from the portraits leaning on the back wall. He kneeled down and pulled open the bottom drawer revealing children's clothes. England picked up a nightgown, tears already forming from the walk to this place falling down and being absorbed by the white fabric as England hugged it gently. He choked back a sob as he remembered the small body that used to wear the gown. Bright blue eyes and a blinding smile that never failed to cheer him up flashed through his memories.

_'America.'_

England sat on the cold floor knowing that his little boy was celebrating his birthday across the ocean. Another year away from his _tyrant_ of an older brother, another year of _freedom_.

England knew he was bitter, he knew that people were right when they told him to stop wallowing in the past but he couldn't help it.

America was the first.

The first one to choose him, the first one to love him completely with everything in his little heart. England swore he would be the best older brother, the best father figure for the small toddler the slept in his arms so trustingly.

No nation ever trusted England like that.

_'I am no longer you're little brother! From now on, I'm INDEPENDENT!'_

England flinched at the memory biting his tongue until he could taste the metallic tang on blood. He rocked back and forth as memories took over.

_India, starving and refusing to eat anything he gave him, just glaring at England until he finally gave in and granted him independence._

_Canada, sweet loyal Canada asking so politely. England couldn't refuse him; he was waiting for this day since his brother wrestled his own independence from the Empire. _

_More memories flashed until he reached Hong Kong, the boy's usually impassive face lit up by the fireworks in Victoria Harbor. A small smile graced his face and England was reminded painfully of the small child he taught English to and enjoyed tea time with. He gave the teenager a final hug surprised when it was reciprocated by the usually aloof teen. He felt warmth fill him until he finally let go and ushered the Port City towards an impatient China. A small good luck whispered in his ear and England left, watching as China embraced his younger brother after one hundred and fifty six years. China gave England a warning look before taking Hong Kong away. England watched as Hong Kong gave one last look back towards his colonizer. England smiled and gave a small wave before turning to board the boat back to his country._

"Rosbif! Where are you~"

France.

England flinched as he heard the low baritone of the blond man. He quickly wiped his eyes and smoothed his ruffled eyebrows. He left his hair alone, the blond locks were untameable. He gentle put away the night gown and shut the drawer. A quiet murmur and a touch to the wood ensured that the items inside it would stay protected, at least for another year. He repeated the gesture with all the items in the room, hurrying in case the frog downstairs decided to look for him.

He had just finished and was heading to the door when a shadow covered the soft yellow light. England frowned as his eyes locked with the deep blue ones of France.

The other man frowned, looking around the crowded room and at England's eyes. The vibrant greens were dull and rimmed in red.

"What are you doing here, Frog?" England demanded, cutting off France's sigh.

The French nation stared at him for a moment, face unreadable before breaking into a carefree smile.

"Why, Rosbif! Why wouldn't I grace you with my _magnifique_ form? After all you must be tired of seeing such dreary sights all day!"

Though the words themselves sounded frivolous and narcissistic France knew that England knew him well enough to read the concern there.

"Shall we?" France asked, offering a hand out to the slimmer man. A soft smile pulled his lips when England scoffed at him, insulted his beard and stomped out of the room and out of the attic.

France let out a small laugh before closing the door. At least he knows _where_ Arthur runs off to every Fourth of July. They spent the evening over a bottle of wine (gin for the Brit) and by the morning France was glad to see England back to his stubborn contrary self as he kicked the Frenchman out for slipping into bed with him. Naked.

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**The picture can be found here: **deviant art/In-silent-moments-287163013?q=gallery%3Ahubedihubbe%2F357392&qo=84

**Read and Review please!**  
**~Kosaji**


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